night to the River Clyde. Tall masts peeked over the clustered thatched roofs. Isabelle drummed her fingers together, a new plan forming. A boat, yes, a boat would be just the thing. She had funds now to pay for safe passage… if she could find an honest captain who would sail to England.
Along the edge of the River Clyde, several boats were lashed to a rickety wooden dock. Some boats were small, some large. Many had a single tall mast. Some had nothing more than oars. One looked suspiciously like a Viking ship. Men on the boats were waking up, performing their morning routines, and beginning to ready their craft. But how to find an honest sailor?
It was an impossible choice, and the consequences if she got this wrong could be dire. She slowly turned around searching for some answer. In the distance shone the steeples of the cathedral, haloed in the light of the rising sun. Isabelle never spared much thought for God, other than trying to avoid being an object of His wrath. After losing her family to the plague, and being given in marriage to an abusive old man, she figured God did not care for her much. But perhaps, given her desperate need, she should try asking for assistance.
Isabelle closed her eyes and made an attempt at piety. Please, God, help me find my way home so I can save my people. Yours sincerely, Isabelle, the Countess of Tynsdale. Though I would truly prefer not to be if you could help me—
“Ow!” Something slammed hard into her left shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she found herself face-to-face with a sweaty man carrying a large crate on his shoulders.
“Watch yerself, lassie!” he snarled and continued along his way.
Isabelle rubbed her aching shoulder. That’s what she got for attempting prayer. It was up to her now. Isabelle eyed the sailors, mentally rejecting crafts whose crew looked like they were suffering the ill effects of drink. One crew was dressed in the Highlander’s kilts. She mentally crossed them off her list too. The men on the craft next to them, however, were respectably dressed and were already hard at work. Yes, this was a good candidate.
She walked boldly up to the craft, wondering how to get this accomplished. She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Excuse me!” she called to the men on the boat. “May I speak with your captain?”
The men came to the side of the boat and looked down at her with suspicion. One man with a dark, neatly trimmed beard stepped forward. “I am Captain Erskine. State yer business.”
“May I speak with you?” She wanted to avoid calling out her business like a fishmonger.
Captain Erskine jumped down to the river walk. He regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and reserve. His men on the boat made no pretense of doing anything but hanging over the side of the boat and listening.
“I wish to return to England. Might you be traveling that direction?” Isabelle asked.
“I might.”
“Could I pay for safe passage back to England? I have become separated from my guard and I must return.”
“Who would be traveling?” he asked.
“Just myself.”
“Ye only? None other?” The captain raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
The captain crossed his arms across his chest. “How much ye willing to pay?”
Isabelle paused, considering her actions. If she revealed the coin she could simply be robbed. And yet, in order to get back to England she needed to take a risk. “Would this buy passage?” Isabelle held up the coin.
Captain Erskine reached for the coin, but a loud howl behind her startled Isabelle, causing her to jerk back her hand. One of the kilted men was yelling loudly, attracting the attention of not only Isabelle but everyone else on the neighboring boats and shore.
“What are ye howling about, Hamish?” asked one of the Highlanders as they all ran to the injured man’s side.
“My finger! I slipped and fell and now my finger, och look at it!” The lad held up his hand, showing one of his fingers was bent up
Along the edge of the River Clyde, several boats were lashed to a rickety wooden dock. Some boats were small, some large. Many had a single tall mast. Some had nothing more than oars. One looked suspiciously like a Viking ship. Men on the boats were waking up, performing their morning routines, and beginning to ready their craft. But how to find an honest sailor?
It was an impossible choice, and the consequences if she got this wrong could be dire. She slowly turned around searching for some answer. In the distance shone the steeples of the cathedral, haloed in the light of the rising sun. Isabelle never spared much thought for God, other than trying to avoid being an object of His wrath. After losing her family to the plague, and being given in marriage to an abusive old man, she figured God did not care for her much. But perhaps, given her desperate need, she should try asking for assistance.
Isabelle closed her eyes and made an attempt at piety. Please, God, help me find my way home so I can save my people. Yours sincerely, Isabelle, the Countess of Tynsdale. Though I would truly prefer not to be if you could help me—
“Ow!” Something slammed hard into her left shoulder. Her eyes flew open and she found herself face-to-face with a sweaty man carrying a large crate on his shoulders.
“Watch yerself, lassie!” he snarled and continued along his way.
Isabelle rubbed her aching shoulder. That’s what she got for attempting prayer. It was up to her now. Isabelle eyed the sailors, mentally rejecting crafts whose crew looked like they were suffering the ill effects of drink. One crew was dressed in the Highlander’s kilts. She mentally crossed them off her list too. The men on the craft next to them, however, were respectably dressed and were already hard at work. Yes, this was a good candidate.
She walked boldly up to the craft, wondering how to get this accomplished. She took a deep breath and gathered her courage. “Excuse me!” she called to the men on the boat. “May I speak with your captain?”
The men came to the side of the boat and looked down at her with suspicion. One man with a dark, neatly trimmed beard stepped forward. “I am Captain Erskine. State yer business.”
“May I speak with you?” She wanted to avoid calling out her business like a fishmonger.
Captain Erskine jumped down to the river walk. He regarded her with a mixture of curiosity and reserve. His men on the boat made no pretense of doing anything but hanging over the side of the boat and listening.
“I wish to return to England. Might you be traveling that direction?” Isabelle asked.
“I might.”
“Could I pay for safe passage back to England? I have become separated from my guard and I must return.”
“Who would be traveling?” he asked.
“Just myself.”
“Ye only? None other?” The captain raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
The captain crossed his arms across his chest. “How much ye willing to pay?”
Isabelle paused, considering her actions. If she revealed the coin she could simply be robbed. And yet, in order to get back to England she needed to take a risk. “Would this buy passage?” Isabelle held up the coin.
Captain Erskine reached for the coin, but a loud howl behind her startled Isabelle, causing her to jerk back her hand. One of the kilted men was yelling loudly, attracting the attention of not only Isabelle but everyone else on the neighboring boats and shore.
“What are ye howling about, Hamish?” asked one of the Highlanders as they all ran to the injured man’s side.
“My finger! I slipped and fell and now my finger, och look at it!” The lad held up his hand, showing one of his fingers was bent up
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